


The Ram

by mochisquish



Series: Conquer [3]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochisquish/pseuds/mochisquish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Responsibility weighs heavily on Sam and Tron’s expectations may push him over the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ram

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wtb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtb/gifts).



> Happy birthday to the wonderful [winzler](http://307020.com/) who encouraged me to write 2/3 of this series. :3

Lightning stabbed through Tron’s tongue as the side of his face collapsed; jaw breaking and crumbling to the floor like sand.  His sensors were severed and pain echoed on the opposite side of his body like a ghost scratching down his skin.

He grabbed at CLU’s wrist and twisted while a leg came up to thrust the man off him and onto the floor.  There was no thought; instinct urged him to his feet – _get off the ground, you’re going to die_ – and Tron rose immediately on shaking legs.

The other was feet away and coming closer, with narrowed eyes and that smirk Tron always disliked and now despised.  The two discs remained in the Security Program’s hands, and he realized then his grip was so severe it was painful.

CLU opened his mouth and Tron couldn’t bear to hear him speak; thought if he laughed, he would lose it, and so struck first – spun and whirled a red disc at CLU’s head.

It wouldn’t be that easy and Tron wasn’t stupid, but the miss enraged him.  He let his own blue disc fly and watched as CLU dodged with ease; watched, as his enemy’s fist pounded upwards into his chest.  Tron doubled over, saw the floor and heard both discs cut through the air and crash behind him.

With a roar he charged forward, knocked CLU onto the ground, shoulder first.  There was a crack that he took to be the other’s armor, but CLU’s arm remained limp as his able hand came up to desperately claw at Tron’s face.  Fingers caught broken pixels causing Tron to groan in agony when white hot streaks pierced through him.  It didn’t register that he was damaged.  Tron never thought of himself as destructible.

He landed a punch, slammed knuckles into CLU’s cheekbone and made him reel, but CLU fought viciously, like a madman with nothing to lose, and in that moment Tron felt he believed in his cause more.  CLU wanted to win, more.

It was a broken cry when Tron shouted, “Give up, now!” knowing he wouldn’t, but feeling desperate, mind thrumming…

_Give up, give up, give up._

“No!”

Sam stumbled to his feet with chest heaving and palms covered in sweat.  Tron’s disc snapped back into his hand as a Black Guard collapsed onto the ground next to the User.

Quorra stood  near a corner, lips thin and staff cradled in her arm, gaze focused on Tron as he closed the distance between himself and Sam.

Tron hissed, “Then start listening,” finger pointed at the younger man in a gesture he’d learned from Flynn but never truly understood.

“I don’t like what you’re saying.”

“You don’t have to like it.”  Hands rested on hips and he stated, more calmly, “This is for you.”

“No,” Sam barked, teeth clenched.  “It’s for you.  It’s for you and for her and for my old man.  This isn’t my responsibility.  I don’t belong here.”

There was silence before Sam broke eye contact, gaze flicking mindlessly over the sleek black walls that encompassed the city square.  Quorra shifted, face wrought with worry.  She was more naïve than Sam, but a better student; eager to learn and eager to please.  She questioned Tron’s tactics only until she understood them.  Sam questioned his tactics and argued any possible flaw, and when Tron was driven up a wall during their anti-gravity training sessions, it wasn’t always literally.

The Program stepped backwards with posture stiff and regal, warned, “Behind you.”

Sam turned, barely in time to prevent a Black Guard from slicing his spine in half.  Quorra rushed forward but a hand came out to stop her.  She obeyed, grip viselike around the shaft of her weapon, processes firing so quickly she could feel them pulsing through her head in a nauseatingly hypnotic rhythm.

The Black Guard came down again and Sam shielded himself with his disc before snapping a foot into his abdomen, sending the enemy’s disc skidding down the street and body to the floor.  He yelled for Tron with a rasp that was between threat and plea, but was waved off with, “Get him, Sam, I can’t help you.”

Sam sucked in breath, face flushed with heat.  He suppressed a tantrum; felt panic because he knew no one could save him but he couldn’t save himself.

The man had risen by the time Sam focused again and then hands were on him, around his neck, and Sam twisted and groaned while grabbing at his arms helplessly.  He kneed the guard in the groin and took advantage of the loosened grip, snaking an arm between the other man’s and forcing him off.  Sam’s throat burned and the sputtering made it worse, but it was compulsive; he needed to breathe though he was drowning in a pool of fire.

Fingers tangled in his hair as Sam’s head snapped backwards and a fist pounded his nose, spraying hot red liquid down his lips and over the side of his face.  A second strike was barely reflected by a forearm, and a roundhouse to the kidney struck true.  Sam turned to shield his injury and followed the movement with a back kick that did little more than provide distance between him and his enemy.  The Black Guard was still coming, like a soulless machine impervious to pain, and Sam knew it had to end in one strike.

The soldier drew back, the hit so powerful Sam’s own arm almost flew into his face when he blocked the blow.  Sam brought his foot down on the man’s knee and he crumbled, catching himself with his hands before falling head first into the ground.  A swift kick to the temple tossed him onto his back and Sam leapt like a leopard; fell on his chest and drove his disc into his neck.  The man shattered, spilled into millions of pixels that Sam shook off his boot as he stood.

“Are you crazy?!”  He screamed before he even looked up, then stomped towards his companions.  “I could’ve been killed!”

Tron watched with arms folded as he stated the obvious.  “You’re alive.”

“But I could have been killed!”

“What didn’t happen doesn’t matter.”

Sam turned to Quorra with eyes wide and mouth agape, but she didn’t comment.  She followed Tron as if he was infallible and Sam refused to be as blind.  He had respect for the man when he heard his father’s stories but now he was real and Sam could make his own judgments, and Tron rubbed him the wrong way.

“We’re going to wipe them out – every one.  We’re going to rebuild the Grid.  We’re going to erase CLU from its memory.”

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes and Quorra retreated backwards in silent disappointment.

She tried, “Flynn was a great man.  He would be proud of the responsibility you’re assuming.”

“I don’t need to hear how great he was.  Look what happened, look how he messed up, and now it’s my problem?  Now I have to care for millions of people – of Programs?  It’s my fault if this isn’t fixed?”

“I’m sorry this is what your father left you, Sam.”  Tron shifted his weight and cocked his head.  “I’m sorry his problems are now your own.  I was created to be a protector.  I’m loyal to Flynn, to the Grid.  I was never anyone else, not like you.  I understand it’s difficult.”

Quorra watched Sam’s expression expectantly.

“These Programs have names.  They’re my friends; they were your father’s friends.”

“They’re slaves,” Sam muttered, not bothering to look Tron in the face.  “You’re just a slave.”

The Program’s head tilted, eyes scanning the air.

“There are two coming up behind you.  One’s crossing the alleyway to the left, the other’s taking your right.”  Tron stepped backwards once more and instructed, “Again.”

They were closing in fast and Sam ran to meet the larger of the two before both could take him at once.  The Black Guard reached for his disc but Sam already sent his own soaring.  The trajectory was off but he still cut through at the elbow, sending arm and weapon to the ground.

Tron observed, unmoving, never roused by Sam’s accomplishments or failures.  Sam knew the Program could do better; knew Tron thought the same.  His throat closed and the burning in his nostrils faded into a sharp sting.  It was getting harder to see through the wetness in his eyes, and as Sam’s disc burned a line down the man’s body, from shoulder to thigh, he roared out his anger and frustration and every doubt kept locked in his soul.

The guard went down so swiftly Sam was stunned.  He remained immobile, barely breathing as he took in his victory.  His brain battled itself, reminded Sam he was worthless and this was a fluke; told him too that he was capable of doing anything.

“Sam!”

Quorra screeched and Sam caught Tron even flinch before he realized what was happening.  The second soldier, slim and quick, was already upon him.  Her heel flew into his stomach and he sputtered as breath was knocked from his lungs.  Sam captured her ankle and threw his weight to twist her off, but she spun her body, kicking him in the face with her other leg which made them both hit the ground.

A dull pain swept through him, muscles aching and stomach flipping.  Sam balanced on one hand, beseeched, “Tron..!”

There was no response, no large, dark shadow looming overhead to defend him.  There was only the scraping of feet as the woman drew closer and he cried again, “Tron!” hated himself each time it left his lips.  It was pathetic and he didn’t want to rely on the Program.  He didn’t want to rely on anyone.

The top of her boot struck the underside of Sam’s chin, cracking his teeth up into each other.  His mouth opened again, slack, as blood pooled under his tongue and spilled over his lips.

She spat, “ _User_ ,” venomously, word garbled by static.

Sam threw up arms to wrestle her away, but her strength was impressive and without a quick out, he would lose this battle.  He flung his head forward into her own; considered her helmet only after his head pounded and dizziness took him.  It was enough to stun her and force the helmet to retract, leaving her vulnerable.

Tron was near now; Sam could hear him, feel his presence.

“I did my best to protect Flynn,” he began, and Sam was glad he didn’t make the mistake of relaxing when the other wasn’t jumping to assist.  “I will do everything to protect you.  I will teach you, Sam, to protect yourself.”

He stretched his jaw, still feeling the sparks given off by an irreparable wound.  He murmured, “I won’t always be here.  I’m not indestructible,” voice fading into the empty street.

Tron circled them, analysis taking less than a second.

“Her neck is exposed.”

Sam groped blindly at the woman’s head, hand slipping downwards until he found the gap between her suit and helmet.  He gripped and squeezed; felt soft flesh and crushed it between his fingers till he thought he’d be sick.  She pulled backwards, fists flying haphazardly into Sam’s chest and grazing his face.  Sam’s free hand felt behind her, yanking her disc from its cradle.  He struck her in the dip of her lower back, disc ripping through her torso and spilling pixels over his body in a wave.

With limbs sprawled, Sam remained staring up into darkness.  Tron offered his hand as Quorra spoke sweetly, “You did great,” and Sam couldn’t accept that as truth while his heart pounded into his ribs.

Tron calmly pulled him to his feet with one arm, displaying the kind of physical and mental strength Sam knew he’d never possess.  “I was honored to be by your father’s side.  He saved me from the old system – he meant everything to me and I see him in you.  I see better things in you.”

Sam looked up at Tron, with brow stitched and mouth sad, and it was a compliment he didn’t deserve.  He hadn’t earned it at all.

The Program’s hand rested on his shoulder with grip strong and touch warm.  It was his father, excited when he made the baseball team, and it was Alan congratulating him on almost winning the spelling bee.  It was his grandfather in those final weeks, telling him in that frail, broken voice to take care of his grandmother, and it was Lora welcoming him home from college.

Sam’s body was numb – the pain too much or not a concern at all, but somehow the gesture hurt.  It was acceptance and it was love, and it brought an ache to his heart – a good ache – the kind that made him care so much he wanted to die; the kind that gave him purpose and shattered him completely when things went wrong.

From behind the Program Sam caught black forms materialize in the distance, moving at great speed until their bodies took shape.

“Now, Sam…”

He was off before Tron finished, charging towards the parasites that crippled the Grid - the things that sucked the life and hope from his father, the evil that stole Tron’s dignity and Quorra’s family - and with disc burning, Sam echoed, “Again.”


End file.
